Song of the Barren Orange Tree

Woodcutter. Cut out my shadow. Free me from the torture of seeing myself fruitless. Why was I born among mirrors? The daylight revolves around me. And the night herself repeats me in all her constellations. I want to live not seeing self. I shall dream the husks and insects change inside my dreaming into my birds and foilage. Woodcutter. Cut out my shadow. Free me from the torture of seeing myself fruitless.